


The Pieces Sacrificed In This Game Of Chess

by ComposerEgg



Series: Feels More Like a Memory [2]
Category: Subarashiki Kono Sekai | The World Ends With You
Genre: /ow/, M/M, Neku POV, POV Second Person, SIB stimming, Sensory Overload, autistic Neku, like holy shit OW Neku, minor but mentioned ship, self-injurious behavior
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-18
Updated: 2017-02-18
Packaged: 2018-09-25 07:38:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,278
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9809651
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ComposerEgg/pseuds/ComposerEgg
Summary: Joshua is late for their date, and Neku's worry leads him to walking in on a fight, one that might've been better off running it's course without his interruption. Both him and Josh pay the price.(Can be read on it's own, but completely spoils the twist inTo Live Another Day. Please read that one first!)





	

**Author's Note:**

> This fic has gone through a lot more editing than the main one did, and I'm pretty damn proud of it. Also I'd apologize to Neku (and Josh) but really I'm not sorry.
> 
> Beta'd by the wonderful [cavesalamander](cavesalamander.tumblr.com) aka Hinami. They were such a big help!

3:15 PM. Josh was 15 minutes late, because _of course_ he’d be late. The laws of time did not apply to the grand Composer, he could show up whenever he wanted, nevermind the fact that he was supposed to meet you at Hachiko at 3 PM for your date. Not even one single text had been received to let you know why, either. Which meant he was being a dick, or something was _seriously wrong_. You want it to be the first, but your impatience crumbles and turns to worry as you wait.

Shibuya’s vibes are building, tugging at you, a storm is brewing as time goes on, and she wants to drag you into it.

You’re in the RG, you shouldn’t be able to pick up on Shibuya’s moods, but you also spend half your time around her Composer nowadays, so maybe that’s why you feel her right now.

After checking your phone in vain one last time, you frown, slipping it into your pocket as you walk, heading for the Room of Reckoning. If something has gone wrong--and it _has_ gone wrong, if Shibuya is going against her Composer’s wishes by pulling you into danger--then you’ll find the trouble where Shibuya wants you to be, and that’s where the vibes are strongest. 

You thank whoever designed the hidden web of Shibuya’s UG for placing the _super secret throne room_ so close to Hachiko. Or maybe you should thank whoever put the statue close by; Hachiko probably came second, after all.

It’s still a long hike, but nowhere near as bad as all the running you did in the Game, and you reach the Dead God’s Pad faster than you ever have before, no Noise or annoying Game Masters to slow you down now.

The familiarity of it haunts you, reminding you of that last day. Dread pools in your bones as you remember how it felt to lose Joshua the first time, back when you were Partners. The sounds of fighting, magic zipping through the air and clashing, echo down the Trail of the Judged, and that dread grows as you sprint down the hall. 

You don’t have time to assess the situation when you enter the room, because you immediately draw the attention of both combatants. You focus in on Joshua, seeing his eyes widen, and he looks _afraid_ , which is odd, because you can’t recall him ever looking like that before. Pure terror on his face.

Then you hear an attack charging, and you realize that your arrival might be more distracting than helpful. It takes you a second to realize that the enemy isn’t aiming at Josh, but rather you, and by then it’s too late. The beam is fired. You brace for impact, terror grounding you in place.

The piercing, razor thin, white-hot line never reaches you. It hits Josh square in the chest, his arms spread wide as he takes the hit for you again, a small gasp of pain escaping from his mouth. Unlike last time this happened, he doesn’t disappear. Instead, his body crumples to the ground like a marionette whose strings have been cut.

The moment stretches on, and the staccato of your your heartbeat becomes more pronounced, the silent spaces stretching on, as the body in front of you does not move. You wait for something, _anything_ , to show he’s not gone, but nothing happens. Joshua doesn’t move, doesn’t make a sound, he just lays there, and something inside you--maybe your heart, that feels pretty broken right now--snaps.

Cold fire trickles through your veins, sharpening your senses as you focus on the assailant, and they’re  _ smiling _ . In this moment of clarity you take a step forward and the world shifts as you teleport behind the person, flickering as your existence blinks from one place to another. 

The palm of your hand connects with the back of their head,  frying their body as the sparks fly, releasing your hatred and misery in the form of lightning. You vaporize them on the spot, the turmoil of emotions still a pit in your stomach.

The energy you’ve just spent hits you like a vending machine. You stumble as you walk, trying to head over to where Joshua’s body still lies. You need to get to him, because his body is blurring, becoming insubstantial, and you can’t let him disappear, _not again_. Musical staves are unwinding from his body, the notes falling from their places and scattering away, into the jumble that is Shibuya.

You blink, shaking your head, because that can’t be what you’re seeing, except now you see more. Lines and notes and the essence of Music spiraling all around you. A hurricane and you are in the ever-shrinking eye of the cacophony. A staff crawls up your leg, another grabs onto your arm, inky black lines etch themselves into your skin. You _scream_ as you fall to the ground, voice lost to the whirlwind of sound.

You are _everywhere_. You exist in every part of Shibuya. You hear the conversations in Ramen Don, see the flashing lights of ads and walk signs and stoplights in the Scramble, feel the repulsive slimy texture of Hanekoma’s Bouillabaisse soup, gagging at the taste of the shellfish. The city smog clouds your head,  the disgusting smell of gasoline filling your nose to go with it. Horns blare in your ears, feet pound as they walk all over you, tread marks are left by cars and they pummel you over and over _and over,_ and it _doesn’t stop_.

There’s something else picking at the edge of your awareness, a person that is _other_ , not quite part of Shibuya, but _higher than_. You try to focus in on that, but sensory input floods your head, you are in all places at once, and your consciousness is stretched thin to observe it all.

You can’t take it.

You claw at your skin, nails drawing blood as you scream your throat sore. It’s not enough. The awareness is killing you, and you grasp at the strings of memory, the calm isolation brought to you by a dark room and your headphones with music cranked up, combatting your hypersensitivity, but no, that wouldn’t help with how Shibuya is drilling into your head.

Your thoughts allow you a brief moment of clarity and you figure _hey, maybe slamming your head into the cold concrete floor will be grounding enough_. You almost laugh, but your thoughts and voice are lost as pain blooms from the side your head. You do it again, and you’re almost able to hear the sickening cracking  noise this time. You _felt_ it at least, and isn’t that nice? Feeling something of your own, with your body. The pain drags you back to the limited awareness your body has, muffling the overwhelming input by blaring louder than all of Shibuya, so you can pass out in one place.

 

You wake up with a dull throbbing in your head and a gaping hole where your heart should be for reasons you can’t recall. You’re in a bed, which is odd, because you remember passing out in the Room of Reckoning. When you try to sit up, you realize you’ve made a mistake, because it summons the events from before, and they come crashing down on you in a tidal wave. The memories pull against you, dragging back down onto the bed.

Joshua was dead.

(You can _almost_ hear him now, “I’ve been dead a long time, Neku. This is just Erasure.”)

He died protecting you, because you ran into that fight thinking you could somehow help, instead of becoming a liability. You’d managed to come out the winner, obliterate the attacker ( _A Fallen_ , Shibuya supplies, as if you know what that is), but if you hadn’t rushed in? Joshua wouldn’t have sacrificed himself to save you. He’d still be here. You wouldn’t have had the biggest meltdown ever from the effects of omnipresence. All of Shibuya wouldn’t be crammed into your head.

You want to lay in bed forever, but you need to get up sometime. Shibuya is already compensating for the heightened awareness of the entire city, filtering out all the background activity you don’t need to know. It’s nice to not be on the verge of another meltdown, but it gives you one less excuse to keep laying there.

So you sit up, holding your head to ward off the wave of nausea that threatens to come over you. The room you’re in is familiar, latte brown walls, shimmering with sunlight shining in from the window to your left. Before you can move to stand, the door across the room opens, and Hanekoma walks in.

When he sees that you’re awake, he grins at you. It looks forced. “Heya ‘Phones, how ya feelin’?”

“Like shit.” It’s blunt. You don’t care. It’s true.

He sighs, shaking his head. “Yeah? Not surprising, considering everything. Josh got hit pretty bad too, I think it was worse since Shibuya didn’t know how to accommodate.”

You frown at the mention of Josh. “Explain. What happened? What the hell was all that? What’s happened to J--” you can’t say his name out loud, it gets stuck in your throat, so you pause, breathe, and try again. “What happened to him? And what’s a Fallen?”

Hanekoma’s eyes widen at the term, if only for a moment, before he smooths out his expression. “Well, Angels are beings of the Higher Ground, but if you meddle with Taboo you ain’t worthy of being up there. They become power-hungry, they’d do anything to get more, and Composer is a powerful role.”

You narrow your eyes at Hanekoma. “So, Fallen are power-hungry ex-Angels who meddled with Taboo. Okay, my other question then, what about him?”

“I don’t know. He could’ve reincarnated, or he’s gone. I know he didn’t Ascend. Either way, you’re Composer now.”

“You don’t _know?_ How can you not know which of those happened? You know everything!” You stop, think, because _why_ does Mr. Hanekoma know so much? “You’re one of those Angels, aren’t you? Tell me everything.”

That elicits another sigh. “I can’t sense whether or not he reincarnated, because in all the turmoil I couldn’t keep track. Yes, I’m an Angel, the Producer of Shibuya specifically. I am also a liaison between the Composer and the Higher Plane, those guys upstairs don’t like to bother with most minor stuff, so they just give me the message to pass along.”

You close your eyes, rubbing your forehead, because _fuck_ this is a lot to take in. “So, you’re super-powered without a connection to the city, and I’m super-powered and connected to the city?”

“Yeah, pretty much.”

This is too much, you’re head still aches, you’re tired, so you lean back in bed and close your eyes. “Am I dead?”

Hanekoma shrugs. “Technically, no, you never died. But you’ve now got all the perks of being a quasi-dead Composer.”

Well, it’s good to know that none of your friends had to deal with you dying again. “I’m going to have to tell them. Shiki and Beat and Rhyme. I have to tell them what happened.”

“Nope. Not allowed. Nobody besides the Producer and Conductor are allowed to know who the Composer is.”

You let out a bitter laugh. “Yeah? And you expect me to give a shit about that rule? I’m telling my friends, and if I don’t, they’d figure it out anyway.”

“Neku, you can’t--”

You shake your head, interrupting. “I’m still exhausted, think you could let me sleep some more?”

Hanekoma’s probably frowning, you don’t look to check though. After a few seconds he sighs, says “Alright, ‘Phones,” and you hear the door close on his way out.

Once he’s gone, you grab the blanket, finding it heavier than expected. It must be weighted, you muse, as you drag it over your body. You curl up beneath it, the pressure helping to ground you. It helps, but it’s not enough to keep the hot tears from leaking out of your eyes, leaving red tear-stains on your cheeks in their wake. Josh was smart, he had to have known what was happening, right? He would’ve been able to ensure reincarnation for himself, surely.

You remember how casual he’d been about dying. _I’m here because I want to be_. He’d been so _tired_ , it showed in all the time you spent together. Dark bags under his eyes, frazzled hair, and jokes about the meaninglessness of it all. He’d had you point a gun at his head, and expected you to shoot, because he’d done all he could to force your hand.

The scar over your heart burns at the thought, or maybe that burning caused by the idea of never seeing him again, a searing pain because you never got to say goodbye. It’s all your own fault, anyway. If only you hadn’t walked in, then he wouldn’t have been Erased protecting you.

He’d been doing better, this past year. He’d been more energetic, _happier_ as the months went on. Your arrival couldn’t have been another chance to pass the role of Composer to someone else, an excuse to get Erased. Joshua had been enjoying his existence, he wouldn’t have wanted to abandon you. He wouldn’t want you to blame yourself.

(Shibuya sends those reassurances to you, and points out the distinct lack of any of Joshua’s Soul within her, so maybe, just maybe, you can hope.)

It’s that sliver of hope that allows you to drift off, drying tear-stains on your cheeks. When you awaken, you’ll deal with the world, but for now, you need more time.

**Author's Note:**

> If you liked it, if you hated it, if this made you feel _anything_ or you have any opinion on it, please comment!!!!! I love getting comments from readers, it's honestly amazing!!
> 
> I know, it can be hard to motivate yourself to write out a few simple lines, or copy your favorite part into the box below, but it's so encouraging to see reader comments. Even if it's a critique on what I could do better! 
> 
> I love long thought-out comments that are paragraphs, but there's also a lot of joy in getting incoherent
> 
> EDIT: [I have a twewy discord now! It's here!](https://discord.gg/sP9UEXz) keysmashes! The notification in my email always brightens up my week!


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